


Control

by glacis



Category: NCIS, Without a Trace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin loses control.  This time, Martin calls Tony.  Sequel to Conflict of Interest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

Control, a Without a Trace/NCIS crossover by Glacis.  Rated NC17.  No copyright infringement intended.  Sequel to [Conflict of Interest](http://www.castleskeep.net/Conflict.htm)

_FBI_ _NCIS_ _FBI_ _NCIS_ _FBI_ _NCIS_ _FBI_ _NCIS_ _FBI_ _NCIS_ _FBI_ _NCIS_ __

Always before it had been Tony calling Martin.  Since being accidentally outed on the job in September, Martin had seen Tony three times.  Each time, they’d done as they always did; fuck, talk, laugh, fuck some more, hold each other, maintain a careful silence about work and family, and use their time together as an anchor of honesty in the sea of conflict and chaos that was their lives outside one another.

Jack was as good as his word.  No one else in the unit knew about Tony, or that Martin was gay; his cover was still so good Samantha kept trying to ask him out.  Once in awhile Jack would stare at Martin a few seconds longer than normal, as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle but didn’t have all the pieces.  There was an understanding between the two of them that spoke of trust without saying a word.

Martin gave Jack that silent support when Spaulding came back to haunt them, and Jack’s secrets were exposed.  Martin tried to warn him, gave him the chance to listen to the tape the psychopath had left, but Jack had wanted, maybe needed Viv there to hear, as Spaulding ripped the scab off the wound on Jack’s soul left by his mother’s suicide.

A blind eye to Jack’s tears was the only thing Martin could give him then.

A month later, he hoped Jack would return the favor.  The dark gaze weighed heavily on Martin, as he stood in the doorway of a filthy loft on the top floor of an abandoned warehouse in one of the rougher streets in Brooklyn, staring at the body of the man he’d just shot to death.  Reyes.

The man who used children for collateral on debts from people too desperate to go anywhere else.  Children he tortured.  Children he murdered.

Martin had seen the body of one of those children.  Was looking for another, hopefully still alive, feeling the time running out.  Found a third, locked in a cage in that hellhole of a building, a girl no more than eight, tied and beaten and thrown in the corner.

A bloodied bandage wrapped around her skull to keep her from bleeding to death where the bastard had sliced off her ear.

Fighting down the urge to vomit, Martin calmed the terrified child the best he could.  Called for an ambulance.  Tried to wrench open the painted-shut window, and when he couldn’t, puked on the floor.  Fought the sibilant whisper in his brain that screamed at him to kill, then fought the secondary itch along his knuckles that made him want to beat Reyes to death until he got it somewhat under control.

Then Martin stalked into the room where Vivian was holding Reyes.  The creep jumped to his feet and backed away, but not fast enough to avoid Martin’s fist in his face.

Behind him, Viv was yelling, a controlled command in her voice he was simply too far out of control to heed.  Martin’s gun was in his hand, although he didn’t consciously draw it, and he snarled at the man to tell him where the missing boy was, tell him or so help him God he’d kill him… then Reyes drew a knife, and Martin’s finger squeezed on the trigger.  Once, the space of a heartbeat, then a second shot, then a third, and Reyes was dead.

Martin didn’t know there were tears in his eyes.

Time passed, as Viv took charge, telling Martin what they would say to keep OPR off their backs, to protect the unit, to protect Jack, to protect one another.  Martin nodded, his jaw so tense his neck hurt, and watched as the EMTs took the little girl out on a stretcher.

No leads, now, since Martin killed their best chance of finding the missing boy.  They’d have to dig deeper, find another angle, and they had to do it fast.  Viv left to do just that, but Martin hesitated for a moment before following her.

Across the room, Martin’s gun in his hands, Jack stared at him.  Through him.  Right into his soul.

It took a few moments before Martin could gather the strength to break the weight of that stare and follow Viv out the door.

The next several hours went by in a blur.  Danny and Jack leaned on Teo, the missing boy’s older brother, and a tangled web of lies, extortion, kidnapping and stolen cars emerged.  The unit took a SWAT team into a chop shop and Martin was the one who broke the lock on the van holding young Nelson.

The kid was whole.  Tied up, scared, dirty, trembling, but whole.  Martin’s hands shook as he reached out to untie the boy.  After they cleaned out the viper’s nest, Danny took Nelson home to his family, and Martin went to headquarters to write his report.

Late that evening, Viv stopped by his desk to tell him they’d be meeting the review board the next morning.  He told her they’d be all right.  She looked at him as if she wasn’t quite sure she believed it, or perhaps, that she knew she would be fine but wasn’t so sure about him.  He clenched his jaw again and drew on years of passive aggression in the face of his father to maintain his composure until she finally left.

As soon as she did, Sam leaned against his desk and asked him if he was okay.

“I’m fine,” he ground out before she even finished the sentence.  “The guy got exactly what he deserved.”

She gave him an understanding look, no doubt believing he was going through some kind of crisis of confidence, as she had a few months before when she’d killed two men in the line of duty.  He didn’t disabuse her of the notion, although she couldn’t have been more wrong.

He wasn’t feeling guilty.

He wasn’t feeling anything.

“So, would you like to go—“

“I have to finish this report,” he cut in before she could finish her invitation.  A flash of hurt went across her face, but was quickly replaced by still more baseless understanding.

After she left, he spent a long time looking out the window at the rain.

The first lesson he’d had drilled into him from the time he could walk was that of self-control.  Controlling oneself, then controlling others, was the hallmark of his father’s success, and he’d worked hard to instill it in Martin.

He’d lost it that day.  Lost it spectacularly.

In doing so, he’d killed a bastard who more than deserved it, although Martin had always thought, before, that vigilante justice was wrong.  He’d nearly lost the case, endangering a young boy in the process.  He’d disappointed Viv, let Jack down, gotten the unit in hot water again.  When his father found out about it there was no doubt Martin would hear all about it for months.

He had the vague feeling he should feel remorse.  Even though Reyes had needed putting down like a rabid dog, it was the first time Martin had killed someone.  Or maybe he should feel righteous anger.  Or relief.  Or trepidation, or something, anything.

All he felt was numb.

The next day was a Wednesday, and the morning brought them a missing hero.  In the sixty five hours following, the hero turned out to have brothers with feet of clay.  One died, one committed murder, and the hero turned up dead.  Martin spent a difficult ten minutes talking to a man with most of his face melted into human slag, a man who’d done what he had to do for his brother, from guilt because he’d slept with his brother’s wife, and in the process, the true hero among the three was lost.

Martin worked, avoided Jack’s eyes, and tried to talk to Viv.

“Your father is the assistant director.  I was the senior agent on this case.  Who do you think they’re going to hang out to dry?” she snapped at him.

“I still think we should tell Jack,” he tried to reason with her.  He had the gut feeling Jack knew, if not the details, then at least that Martin was lying to him.  Martin couldn’t lie worth a damn to Jack because Jack could see right through him.

“So he can lie for us?”  From the darts shooting from Vivian’s eyes, she could see through him too.  Martin felt naked, horribly naked, down to the soul.

“Keep it together, Martin,” she ordered him.  “If we change our stories now we’re dead.”

So he kept it together.  On Friday morning, the delayed OPR interview took place.  Viv went first.  Martin went next.

He spent the rest of the day staring blankly at paperwork.  At five o’clock exactly he walked out the door.  He felt the weight of Jack’s stare between his shoulder blades all the way down the hall.  He stopped in the lobby and pulled out his cell phone.

Always before, it had been Tony calling Martin.  This time, Martin called Tony.

“DiNozzo,” Tony answered, his usual obscene cheer absent.

“Bad time?” Martin asked.  Please, he thought, please let it not be a bad time.  I know I’m selfish, but this time, I need him.

“Never, for you,” Tony answered.  Ridiculously romantic, but also plain truth, and Martin closed his eyes in relief.

“I need to get out of here.”

Tony didn’t hesitate.  “Take the six o’clock express.  I’ll pick you up at the station at nine.  Stay the weekend?”

“Please.”

“Okay then.  You can tell me all about why you sound like you’re about to keel over and I can tell you all about my salsa fiasco.”

Martin found himself smiling.  It hurt, a little.  “See you then.”  He hung up, stepped outside, hailed a cab.  He stared out the window all the way to the Amtrak station.  Then he spent the next three hours staring at the invisible scenery blurring by in the darkness outside the train.

He felt like he’d been anaesthetized.  Numb, from his eyes that weren’t blinking enough to his stomach that had been tied in a knot for a week to the ends of his fingers and toes.  He’d had a lot of experience, growing up, with distancing himself from painful situations, but he’d never been good at it.

Never been a good liar.

Never been a good player.

He didn’t trust easily, but he took trust very seriously.  He understood, completely, that Viv was covering her ass as much as, if not more than, his own in this shooting.  But Martin had learned at an early age that the truth did, indeed, always come out, and if he tried to hide anything, it would rear up and bite him.  He had a strong feeling this was going to come back on him badly.

But he couldn’t think of a damned thing to do about it.

And after a week of his thoughts chasing themselves in ever smaller circles, he had to escape or he’d crack.  Had to get away from the office, and Viv’s expectations, and Jack’s questioning eyes.  Had to get away from nightmare images of tortured children and dead men, from the sense memory of the recoil from the gun moving through his hands, his wrists, up into his shoulders, and from the way Reyes twisted when his corpse hit the floor.  He’d told Sam the truth; the guy got what he deserved.

Judging by the sick taste in his mouth and the visions he saw in the dark whenever he closed his eyes, maybe Martin did, too.  If that was the case, he had a shitload of bad karma hanging around him.  Of course, he’d long suspected, given the family he was born into, that he must have done something awful in a previous life.

At least it wasn’t all bad news.  The train pulled in and Martin pulled himself up out of the seat, eyes searching through the crowd until he saw the shock of wheat blond hair.  Tony was tall, which helped at times like this.  Martin wasn’t, so he was used to being the one who did the finding in crowds, since no one could ever find him.

“Hey,” he said quietly from beside Tony, who looked down at him and smiled.

“Hey,” Tony answered just as softly.

Martin stepped close enough to not be overheard.  “Can I borrow your toothbrush?”

Tony grinned at him, and the tired lines around his eyes smoothed out a little.  “Can I borrow your mouth?”

“Only if I get to use your toothbrush first.”

”It’s a deal.”

Already, Martin felt better.  They didn’t even need to touch.  Just being close enough to feel the heat coming off Tony made Martin relax.  The headache that had gnawed at his skull for the whole week finally started to ease.  His fists, clenched in the pockets of his coat, loosened.  His head dropped, and he stared down at the back of Tony’s shoes as they walked across the parking lot.

Tony’s car was in a far corner, not well-lit, and Martin’s instincts kicked in.  He glanced around, checking out possible threats, and so missed Tony turning and catching hold of him, hands grabbing hold of his waist.  Martin tilted his head to ask what was up but before he could get the words out Tony’s mouth had covered his and words weren’t necessary.

God.  Yes.  Instant heat, instant connection.  Martin flipped a mental finger at propriety for once in his life and latched on to Tony’s mouth, tongue diving in and playing with Tony’s, his hands wrapping around Tony’s head to hold him still so Martin could kiss him.  He only stopped when he started to get dizzy from lack of air, and by that time he was so hard he ached.

“Needed that,” Tony muttered against Martin’s lips.

“Need more,” Martin moaned in response.

“Gotta drive,” Tony explained, scrabbling behind him to unlock the car by touch, since Martin still hadn’t let go of his hair.

“Take the edge off first,” Martin told him, pushing Tony into the now-open door and climbing in after him.

“Are you nuts?” Tony asked, starting to laugh in a mixture of disbelief and horniness.  Martin ignored him.  Slammed the door shut behind him and crawled up Tony’s body until he was straddling Tony’s lap.  Then he buried his fingers in Tony’s hair and kissed him again, kissed him until Tony was as hard as Martin was, kissed him until the windows were fogged up and the air was hot around them.

By the time Tony was incapable of speech, Martin wriggled back down Tony’s legs and crouched on his knees in the foot well on the passenger side.  Pulling Tony’s left knee up, leaning over the thigh splayed there, Martin ran his palm over the bulge in Tony’s trousers until Tony was bucking uncontrollably against his hand.

“Jesus, Martin, do something!” Tony groaned through clenched teeth, his right hand clenched on the back of the seat, his left hand reaching up to hang on to the side of the steering wheel.

Martin didn’t bother answering.  He simply slipped the button and drew down the zip on Tony’s trousers, then drew Tony’s dick out through the slit in his boxers, and sucked hard on the end.  One hand held the shaft steady, the other dipped between Tony’s spread thighs to gently roll his sac from side to side.

“Fuck!  Fuck, oh, fuck, Martin, you son of a bitch,” Tony gasped, and that was all he could take.  Martin barely got the head over his tongue before Tony came, nearly bucking him off.  But Martin held on, sucking hard then gentling as Tony began to tremble, until he was still.  Then he carefully licked up everything he’d missed, enjoying the shivers that started through Tony’s skin everywhere his tongue touched.

When Tony was clean, Martin tucked him back away, zipped and buttoned him up, and smiled up at Tony’s bemused face.

“So, think you can concentrate on driving now?”

“Soon as my bones unmelt,” Tony grinned.

“Unmelt?  Is that a word?”  Martin ducked out of the way as Tony awkwardly pulled his long legs across the seat and maneuvered himself into a proper sitting position at the wheel.

“Can’t think of any better way to say it.  You need a hand down there?”  Tony asked, his grin widening.

Martin gave him a mock glare and pulled himself out of the well, turning to sit on the seat.  “Thank god for leg room,” he quipped, then buckled his seat belt and turned to look at Tony.  “We’ll save the hand for when we get to a bed,” he added bluntly, making sure Tony was watching as he dropped his hand to his own hard dick and gave it a squeeze.

“Oh, fuck,” Tony wheezed, and cranked the engine.

“Soon, I hope,” Martin agreed.  If nothing else, the ache in his balls made it hard to think about anything else.  Which was exactly what he was looking for when he called Tony.

It wasn’t a long drive, but Friday night traffic was a bitch.  Martin kept quiet and let Tony deal with it.  Soon they pulled up to a brownstone on a quiet street, and Tony parked.  Before he opened the door, he leaned over and ran his hand firmly the length of Martin’s dick, balls to head.

“Shit,” Martin gasped, doubling over as far as the belt would allow.

“Honey, we’re home,” Tony teased him, then unsnapped the belt for him.

By the time Tony got around to the passenger side of the car Martin had controlled himself well enough that he could walk.  Sort of.  In a cramped, pained kind of scuttle that made him very glad there was no one else on the street to see him.

Tony gave him an evil grin, then unlocked the door and ushered Martin into his apartment.  One quick look was all Martin got the chance to see before Tony pushed him back up against the door and dropped to his knees between Martin’s feet.  Martin had his trousers and shorts down to his knees and his dick down Tony’s throat before he could get a word out.

Then he didn’t have the power to form words, because Tony sucked his brain out through the end of his dick, and Martin collapsed in a boneless pile draped halfway over Tony’s back.

Okay.  That was a good way to start the weekend.

It got better from there.  By the time they got to the bed, Tony had them both naked.  Martin licked dry lips and pulled Tony’s head up from where he was busily kissing a bruise into the side of Martin’s neck.

“Toothbrush?” he asked, breaking into a whimper as Tony lifted him bodily the few inches necessary to tip him onto the bed, holding on and following him down to lie on top him.

“Why bother?” Tony asked in return.  “You’re just going to taste like me.  I can handle that.”

So could Martin, and he meant to tell Tony so, but just then Tony’s fingers pushed into his hole, and he couldn’t remember what it was he was supposed to say.  The fingers wiggled, and stretched, and he let out a sharp moan that Tony muffled with another kiss.

Talking was over-rated.  Martin gave a mental shrug and let Tony do whatever the hell he wanted, knowing he’d enjoy every bit of it.

There was a hunger to Tony’s touch that Martin hadn’t seen in awhile.  A possessiveness he wasn’t used to but really appreciated, because it grounded him in Tony, connected him completely to what they were doing, and didn’t leave room for anything else to intrude.  Tony had three fingers in him, dripping with lube Martin hadn’t seen him get, but it didn’t matter, because Tony was moving down his body, dropping biting kisses on his jaw, his shoulder, his nipple, along the center of his chest down his belly, all the time moving his fingers in Martin’s ass, opening him up, owning him.

“Gonna come,” Martin warned, previous orgasm notwithstanding, because Tony was like a tornado and there was no way Martin could hold it back.

Tony pushed Martin’s dick down until it hurt, and Martin yelped in response.  “What the fuck?” he glared at Tony, unconsciously pouting.

“Not ‘til I say so, babe,” Tony told him, darting up to give his lower lip a gentle bite.

Martin would have protested, but right then Tony twisted his fingers in Martin’s ass, and if Tony hadn’t just cut him off at the balls Martin would have been gone.  The quick sharp pain turned to a deep, oddly pleasant ache, and Martin groaned, spreading his legs and humping back on Tony’s fingers.

“You are so damned beautiful,” Tony whispered, staring down at his body as Martin moved, unable to control himself.  Then he lowered his head and took Martin’s cock down his throat again, and Martin gave a shout.  Between the fingers working his hole and the throat squeezing around his dick there was no way on earth he could have held back.

As he slowly came down from coming so hard he’d nearly given himself a nosebleed, he stared blearily at Tony.  “Hope that meant you said so,” he teased, “because that was all your fault.”

Tony licked his lips, slowly pulled his fingers away from Martin’s ass and slid up his front to nibble on his mouth again.  “Hope so,” he whispered, then pushed up with his knees and pushed into Martin’s hole without a pause.

“Oh, shit,” Martin gasped again as Tony’s bulk filled him, then he couldn’t get anything out but random moans and groans as Tony fucked him as deeply as he could get.  Not fast, not rough, but slow and deep and so strong Martin felt it in his throat.

Martin wrapped his legs around Tony’s driving hips, wound his arms around Tony’s shoulders, and held on for the ride.  Tony took his time, going in as far as he could reach then grinding his dick deep in Martin’s body, making him shiver as his prostate was rubbed over and over.  He was too drained to get completely hard again, but that didn’t stop the sensual overload from frying every nerve in his body.

It felt like he was coming even though he couldn’t, a deeper orgasm than he was used to, one seated in his spine and low in his belly, making him shake, making him tremble.  Tony worked him through it, until his pace sped up despite his best efforts, and he was thrusting as hard into Martin as he could.  It couldn’t last longer, then, and Martin drew his hands down Tony’s sweat-slicked skin, seeking Tony’s nipples through the thick hair on his chest.  A pinch, another, a quick squeeze of the glutes and Tony was gone.

He collapsed atop Martin and lay there for a little while, until Martin gave him a little push, needing air.  Martin’s inner thighs were cramping and his legs were shaking as he unwrapped himself from Tony’s body and fell back against the pillows.

It was an effort to turn his head on the pillow, but worth it when he saw Tony staring back at him, a soft smile on his face.  Martin returned it, knew Tony saw the sadness and confusion underneath it, knew Tony didn’t have to ask questions to provide Martin with what he needed, because Tony reached over, gathered him up in his arms, and held on to him.  Didn’t let go.

Which was exactly what Martin needed.

There in the dark, as they lay close to one another, sharing heat, sharing space, Martin began to talk.  He didn’t use names; didn’t provide details; didn’t have to.  He said enough.

Tony held him, and didn’t ask questions, and didn’t give him false reassurance.

When Martin finished, he lay in silence.  Tony’s hand stroked over his hair, down his back, up to his hair and down again.  Eventually, Tony sighed.

“You’re a good cop.  You know that.  You’re also a good man.  I know that.  You just have to believe it.”

“Sometimes,” Martin said softly, “I do.”  Tony dropped a kiss on top his head.  They lay together quietly for a long time.  Martin was on the edge of sleep when Tony began to speak.

“I have to remind myself to be enthused about the silly things, because what we do is so ugly sometimes.  Necessary, yeah, but ugly.  There are times when we have to turn on our own.  Times when we’re on the same side, but not the same team, and the lines can get confusing.  People get hurt.  Good people.  Sometimes I hurt them.  Sometimes I have to stand by and watch other people hurt them.  I tell myself the end justifies the means, and usually I can convince myself that’s true.  When the enemy has no scruples I can’t afford to have too many.  But when I get down to their level, and sometimes I have to, then how am I any different than them?”

Martin didn’t have any answers.  He placed a soft kiss in the hollow of Tony’s throat, and murmured against the skin, “You do what you have to do.  Then you live with it.”

Tony shivered beneath him, and Martin frowned.  Tony had taken his mind off his troubles, and it was time for Martin to return the favor.  He ran his hands lightly down Tony’s arms, then up his sides, around his torso to rub his palms over Tony’s ass.

“You want something?” Tony asked, the smile back in his voice, and Martin clenched his fingers on the muscles bunching under his hands.  Tony gasped.

“Always,” Martin assured him, working his knees down between Tony’s thighs.  Tony obligingly spread his legs for Martin, arching up to rub his awakening erection against Martin’s belly.  “Hold that thought,” Martin told him, then pulled back far enough to get his hand down past Tony’s balls.  That earned him another gasp.

“Where’s that—“ Before he could finish the question Tony pushed a crumpled tube of lube into his free hand.  Martin grinned, his dick hardening at Tony’s enthusiasm, all thoughts of sleep leaving him.

“Thanks,” he said lightly, dribbling the sticky stuff over his fingers then working them into Tony’s ass.

“Cond—“  Again before he could complete the word, Tony shoved a foil square at him.  “Gotta love a man who’s prepared,” Martin breathed as Tony began to writhe beneath him.

“So do it already!” Tony ordered, trying to push back on Martin’s fingers and hump up against Martin’s hip at the same time.  When it didn’t work, he whimpered.

“God, Tony, there are whipped puppies out there who could take lessons from you!” Martin told him, then pushed into Tony’s hole.  If Tony answered him, he didn’t hear it.  All he could hear was the thunder of his own pulse in his ears, as tight-hot-smooth-incredible wrapped around his dick and pulled him under.

Moving on instinct, Martin arched and withdrew, hands running up and down Tony’s thighs as he thrust.  Holding back wasn’t much of a problem, as they’d both nearly exhausted themselves, but as always when he was buried in Tony it was too quickly too much.  Martin felt himself speeding up and dropped one hand down to wrap it around Tony’s dick.

Tony’s hand came down around his, tightening his hold, speeding his strokes, and Martin’s hips responded to the inherent command as well as his hand.  Tony began to shake, and Martin fumbled the rhythm in response, hips whipping against Tony as he fucked him, out of control the only way he could ever afford to be out of control.

The only way he ever wanted to be out of control.

The dick under his fingers swelled and spasmed, jerking as Tony came, the muscles in Tony’s ass milking him so hard it nearly hurt.  Martin came in reaction, shoving his dick as far into Tony as he could reach, matching Tony’s whimpers with a few of his own.

When it was over, he barely had enough presence of mind to get rid of the condom before curling up against Tony’s side, his head resting over Tony’s heart.  Gradually the wild thumping calmed, and Martin gave himself up to the sound, letting it draw him into the first deep sleep he’d had in over a week.

By the time Tony put him on the train Monday morning, Martin was back in control of himself.  He was calm, ready to face whatever Viv or Jack or OPR threw at him.  His aching head had been replaced with an aching ass, but he could live with that.  Because he had a safe place to go to when he needed it most… as long as he had Tony, he could live with all of it.

END

_FBI_ _NCIS_ _FBI_ _NCIS_ _FBI_ _NCIS_ _FBI_ _NCIS_ _FBI_ _NCIS_ _FBI_ _NCIS_ __

 


End file.
